


Halloween: Family Style

by bookjunkiecat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Costumes, Crushes, Gen, Halloween, M/M, One-Shot, Scarcely any dialogue, families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 00:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Bowing as ever to the dictates of young Watson, Sherlock Holmes finds himself agreeing to dress up for Halloween. What's more, he enjoys himself. All the more so when he notices John seems to be having just as much fun.





	Halloween: Family Style

**Author's Note:**

> I just love Halloween, and it's been too long since I've written any Johnlock.

          In years past, Sherlock had scarcely noticed Halloween. It was simply an occasion for children to beg for candy and women to dress in wildly inappropriate costumes and mince about in staggeringly high heels. A far departure from the origins of the event, to be sure, but that never seemed to stop anyone from celebrating as they pleased.

          John had once or twice gone to a party in some foolish approximation of a costume, always in pursuit of a woman. The first year it was Sarah, and the two of them had apparently not had a successful evening at a party hosted by one of their work-mates at the clinic. The second time was after Mary’s death, when John was still trying to date (an activity which had decreased with pleasing frequency over the last several years), and he had gone to a party thrown at a pub, hoping to pick up one of the many scantily-clad women. It hadn’t worked out, but mostly because Sherlock had interrupted him to drag him off on a case, which had absolutely been a seven, no matter how much John argued that it was a four at best.

          However, now that Rosie was getting older, Halloween made more of an impression on Sherlock. He had to listen to her rambling conversations regarding which costume she should choose, and admire said costume, and exclaim over the treats she hauled home. It wasn’t a terribly onerous duty, as most things related with his miniature Watson were not, especially now that she was growing older and needed fewer disgusting things done.

          She had the ability to wrap him and John both around her finger with ease, convincing even Sherlock to do things which heretofore would have been inconceivable. Which was how he found himself looking over John’s shoulder as he shopped online for elements of their costumes; Rosie had dictated that all three of them must participate, _as a family_.

          It was not the first time Rosie had begun to refer them to a family unit. Sherlock had all but physically flinched, the first few times, thinking John would become upset, bluster yet again about his supposed straightness. But it hadn’t fazed him, and Sherlock had relaxed and rather enjoyed being perceived as family by his goddaughter. In the confused wake of Eurus’ machinations he had for a time tried to come to some sort of reconciliation with his parents. But in the face of their blind refusal to admit that Mycroft was not some sort of manipulative monster, Sherlock had ceased communication with his parents. He missed them more than he might have supposed, but it was intolerable to have them fawn over him and complain bitterly about Mycroft, who after all, had been parenting his own siblings for twenty years while their parents lived in some sort of fantasy land.

          It was ironic that the revelation of his brother’s life-long lies had actually brought them closer. Mycroft was quite tolerable now that he no longer hovered over Sherlock’s life like an umbrella-carrying bird of prey.  He even occasionally unbent enough to truly come through for Sherlock.

          So, it was as a family that John, Sherlock and Rosie were to dress as her choice of her favourite family, the Addamses. John had good-naturedly refused to dress as Morticia, and Sherlock, who was familiar with dressing as a woman for disguises, had gracefully agreed to let him be Gomez. Rosie was, of course, young Wednesday.

          Two weeks later packages began to arrive, and each one was greeted with great excitement and shouting by Rosie. Wigs, makeup, clothing, accessories all trickled in, and Sherlock congratulated himself on his foresight as she rushed to try on each new item, or demand they don theirs.  On the night itself they would put on everything together and travel the neighborhood to allow Rosie to trick-or-treat, before attending a party at Molly’s, where Molly’s three nieces were to be in attendance. Rosie’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Sherlock rather began to look forward to it all. John too, seemed surprisingly cheerful about being seen in public as a couple. More than once he smiled warmly at Sherlock across his daughter’s head, and Sherlock had to remind himself that it wasn’t love he saw in John’s eyes. Or anyway, not the kind of love he craved.

          It was enough to be part of this, to have John in his life, at his side. Never again would Sherlock take that luxury for granted.

          Luckily Halloween fell on a Saturday, as John had the day off from the clinic, and Rosie couldn’t be expected to concentrate on school with so many magical events to be anticipated. Sherlock too, found himself oddly keyed up, and the three of them finally escaped the confines of the flat and went to the zoo. Rather footsore by the time they returned, Sherlock was glad to flop into his chair and let John bring him a cup of tea. Rosie was sent upstairs with the stern order to nap, since she had such a big evening ahead of her.

          In the quiet lull of early afternoon, the two men sipped their tea and talked quietly of current cases, Rosie, and the proposed trip to visit John’s newly dried-out sister at the clinic in the country she had been immured in for the last fort-night. It was peaceful and fulfilling in a way he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate just a few years before. Domesticity rather suited him—as long as there were occasional dashes into reckless adventure.

          Sherlock closed his eyes with pleasure, letting the warmth of John’s presence wash over him. He heard the telltale creak of the floorboards as John stood, then the cup was taken from his hand and in surprise he kept his eyes closed as John softly laid the blanket from the back of the sofa across him. The gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder and then John was gone, ascending the old stairs quietly.

          Tears stinging his eyes, Sherlock tried vainly to suppress a wish to rise and follow John. Just to hold him in his arms would be wonderful. Frustration at his continued unrequited love sent him into a dark mood, and he tried to seek escape in sleep.

          A few hours later he had shaken off his melancholy and was rather anticipating the evening. Taking a long look at himself in the full-length mirror in his bedroom, Sherlock nodded in approval. He made a rather spectacular Morticia, if he did say so himself. Picking up the cloak he intended to wear against the crisp night, Sherlock exited his bedroom and found Rosie all but vibrating with excitement, her long black braids flying behind her as she dashed about the living room.

          John, resplendent in pinstripes and a thin mustache, glanced up from his chair and the stunned look he gave Sherlock filled him with a sudden giddy hope. He was the second most observant man in the world, and that was a look of desire if ever he had seen one. Smiling glowingly, Sherlock slinked across the room, glad they had opted for old-fashioned Mary Janes for him, since he was already taller than John; he wasn’t sure he could manage heels right now. Not with as lightheaded as he was.

          Almost wordless, John stuttered out his compliments and the three of them stood admiring one another, before they tucked Rosie into her winter coat and set out. It was with high spirits and a good sense of fun that they traversed the neighborhood; and at the end of the two hours Rosie had acquired quite a good treasure trove to gloat over. In the cab Sherlock gazed out the window, recalling in perfect detail the warm clasp of John’s arm around his own, his murmured, “Well we’re a couple, aren’t we?”  Beside him, Rosie chattered excitedly as she dug through her plastic jack o’ lantern pail, inspecting the goodies. John reminded her not to eat any of it until he or Sherlock had inspected it, pointing out, in the face of her pout, that Molly would have plenty of sweets and snacks.

          Far more delightful than the anticipated food, however, was Rosie’s shock when the door was answered by Molly. But it was a Molly nearly unrecognizable, dressed as she was in a cushion-padded striped shirt and a pair of shorts, her hair hidden beneath a short wig. “Pugsley!” Gasped Rosie, and flung herself forward to hug her smiling godmother.

          Her excitement was heightened even more when they entered the room and found Lestrade dressed as Uncle Fester, Mycroft regal as Lurch, and Mrs. Hudson cackling in character as Grandmama. John looked just as stunned, until he glanced at Sherlock, who was unable to maintain a look of innocence, and affection washed softly over John’s face. Mouthing thanks, John allowed himself to be tugged from person to person so his daughter could exclaim over their costumes. Sherlock drifted over to his brother to add his own quiet, heartfelt thanks; the good-natured cooperation on everyone’s part had gone a long way towards making this a Halloween Rosie would long remember.

          The party was a success, full of laughter, shrieking children, the low sounds of holiday appropriate music and the louder sounds of good conversation. Molly had provided an abundance of food, and her nieces proved to be excellent playmates for Rosie. As the night wore on the four girls began to droop; wily Molly lured them into her spare bedroom, popped a DVD of _Hocus Pocus_ in and shut the door. When John checked on them a half hour later they were fast asleep.

          Turning the music to something with a beat, Molly asked Anderson (dressed as Indiana Jones) to dance, and to Sherlock’s surprise John held out his hand. Willingly he joined his best friend on the tiny floor space, ignoring his brother’s pointed smile. It had been years since he had danced with John and he was determined to enjoy it. Rather than making a joke of it, or gyrating mindlessly to the music, John further shocked him by pulling Sherlock into his arms and stepping into a waltz which was wildly out of step with the pop song playing. Not that Sherlock minded.

          The dance drew to an end and John, looking Sherlock steadily in the eyes the whole time, slowly dipped him, until the ends of his long black wig brushed the floor. One hand slid up his back to cup his bare nape, and John, eyes dark and passionate, whispered, “Been wanting to do this all night.” Bending his head slowly, he gave Sherlock time to avoid his lips, which settled softly upon him.

          It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was passionate, and spoke volumes. Heart racing, breath coming short, Sherlock licked his lips as he stared up into John’s face. John’s look was soft, hungry, loving. John’s lips parted and with smiling eyes he murmured, “Cara mia.”

          “Mon chér,” Sherlock breathed, happiness swelling inside him. John pulled him upright and simply wrapped his arms around him, their lips meeting again, naturally and easily. Dimly, the two of them registered the jubilant sounds of their family whooping and cooing around them, but for the moment they had time only for one another.

         


End file.
